A Prayer in the Night
by MissjudyK
Summary: Prequel: 13 yr.old Adam has had a fever for many days. Ben is filled with grief and guilt when told that his son is dying. The healer's treating Adam gives Ben his final prescription: to pray in these last hours. He does, asking God to forgive him for being a bad father, and then offers his life for his son's. The answer to his prayer comes from a stranger on a unexpected trip.


**A Prayer in the Night**

"I'm sorry Ben, there's no more you or I can do. It's up to Adam and God now."

After uttering those ominous words, Bill Farley squeezed Ben's arm and walked toward the bedroom door, turning back to add, "I'll stop by tomorrow." He knew the anguished father hadn't heard a word he'd said after he'd proclaimed the stark reality of Adam's deteriorating condition.

There weren't trained physicians living in the territory yet, and there probably wouldn't be any until the population and opportunities grew enough for a trained professional to make a living. But there were people skilled in natural medicine who shared their knowledge with those in need. Bill Farley had a small cabin along a stream on the northern edge of the Cartwright property, and was one of those who possessed a "sense" about ailments. He was always careful to say that he couldn't "diagnose" or "cure" what was wrong. What he offered was treatment that helped with the effects of an illness, and he'd even worked with Paiute and Shoshone medicine men to hone his skills when he'd first arrived in the area as a trapper. He treated infected wounds with poultices and compresses of herbs and moss to draw out the poison, while herbal teas were 'prescribed" to soothe stomach maladies. But fevers were the bane of all those who practiced the healing arts. He'd come to know that many diseases brought along a fever to play havoc on a sick body, and sometimes these fevers spread from one person to another. Those were the ones that brought pure terror to a community.

Bill had left his trapping business in the backwaters of Louisiana to head into the wilds of the West after his wife and children were taken by a yellow fever outbreak that rampaged through the South in 1841. That nemesis was thought to be carried by mosquitos, but Bill was at a loss to know what was causing young Adam Cartwright to languish. The child had been ill long enough that if it were something passed between people, then the other members of his family would be ill by this time. That fact made Bill breathe easier for Ben, Marie, and the two younger children, but that didn't mean it wasn't deadly for Adam. He'd heard talk among the Indians of a rash and high fever after people of their villages were out in the brush and sustained tic bites. But there was no scientific proof of this.

The cause wasn't important. Bill treated all fevers with herbal teas made of white willow bark, yarrow, Echinacea or ginger. Each of these had properties to reduce body heat from within, but he also made poultices and used tinctures of similar herbs to help draw the fever out through the skin. He'd come to the Ponderosa at Ben's request, and had tried his entire arsenal on Adam's fever. Nothing had worked. One thing he'd become certain of over the years was that a high fever—like this one—couldn't go on for more than a few days without becoming lethal. He'd seen some with extended fevers go into convulsions and die: almost as if they'd been cooked from the inside. Others just slipped away without another word as their bodies shut down. This seemed to be the case with Adam. He'd been in agony at first, but at least then Bill had been able to get him to swallow the teas. Over the last 24 hours, he'd become silent, and his body was cooling from the extremities upward even though the fever continued to rage. Whatever the cause of the condition, it had left behind a venom so strong that this child was edging toward death.

He was leaving the Cartwright family laden with a heavy heart; expecting that Adam would be gone when he returned. Bill had offered one last suggestion, and that was to invoke the healing power of faith. He had seen others on a course toward certain death resurrected by shear strength of will and the power of grace. But that was one medicine he had no means of dispensing. He and Ben had talked about this earlier, and he had encouraged him to put his fears and hopes to prayer, and talk to his son, giving him the encouragement to fight on, even as he "slept." The only thing he knew for sure now was that whatever time Adam had left belonged to the angels, and he sent a quick message to his creator asking peace for this close-knit family as they dealt with whatever was to come.

Marie had gone downstairs for cool water and clean linen, and was heading back up as she met Bill coming down. She looked at him, hoping for a word or sign that all would be well. No words were exchanged between them, but the message was clear as Bill closed his eyes and shook his head from side-to-side before continuing out the door into the night. She wanted to sob or scream at God for letting this happen to an innocent young man, but she'd done that when her own son had died, and it had made no difference. In fact, she figured her carrying-on would only make it harder for the man she loved as his sickbed watch now turned into a deathbed vigil.

"Darling," Marie said softly as she entered Adam's room. When Ben didn't look up, she placed her things on a bedside table, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, giving him a tight hug. She knew there were no words that would comfort him at this moment, so she said instead, "I would offer to remain here with you, but you would tell me I need to rest. I would protest, but you would say that our Little Joe and Hoss need me to be alert and ready to care for them in the morning. Then I'd say that I cannot stand the thought of leaving you alone, and you would remind me that it is as you wish it to be. And finally I would tell you not to blame yourself for this, and you would ask whom else to blame. So, I will simply bid you good night, and ask that you let me know if there is any change. I doubt I will sleep, and will use my time to bombard heaven with prayers for our child."

Ben smiled at his wife, and broke out of his anguish long enough to kiss her. "I'm glad 'we' had this little talk," he said with a wisp of a chuckle.

Marie winked at Ben, kissed him on the cheek, and then went over to the silent child who barely raised a mound in his encasement of blankets. She sat next to him, held his hands and kissed each one before placing her cheek against his, while whispering, "I pray that you will heal this night my sweet Adam. You must fight and stay strong, for we would all find it impossible to go on without you." A final kiss to his forehead confirmed what Marie feared; his fever warmed her lips as they met his skin, and she knew his body couldn't bear the high temperature much longer. She stood and turned once more to Ben, touched his cheek lightly, and bid him goodnight with words she could only pray would prove true. "All will seem better in the morning, my love."

Ben turned the lamp down and knelt at the bedside once he was alone with his son. He was exhausted after several days of watching his 13-year-old get worse until now he lay there silent: his chest barely rising and falling. Adam was already taller than Marie, and it came to mind that he himself had grown like a weed between ages 13 and 15. He expected that Adam would probably do the same. But now… He tried to stop the thought from entering his mind, yet it struck with a hard left to his gut: _he may not live through the night._

Ben spoke to Adam, asking him to "Fight with all your heart," before lowering his head to his hands to pray in the way Bill had suggested. "Dear Lord, What kind of father am I? How can I come to you, asking you to rescue my son when I have done such a miserable job with this child you entrusted to me? What kind of father would let his son get so sick that they would have to hear a healer…a friend, tell him that there is nothing more to be done, and the only possible rescue is for my child to decide whether he wants to remain with me if your grace will provide that miracle? In fact I wonder what kind of God would allow Elizabeth to die and leave Adam in my care instead.

"I'm not questioning your authority God, just your purpose. Wouldn't he have been better off if I had died and Elizabeth had lived to raise him in a civilized city instead of living with me in this wild country? I have to wonder what he would say if you asked him to decide whether _he_ wants to live or die. Would he even want to stay with me after the life I've given him, or will he prefer to join his mother with you? I believe that you are a good and gracious God, so please, Lord, if you require a life tonight, let it be mine. I pray that I may ransom my son's life with my own…"

Ben stayed kneeling at Adam's bedside for a long while as he finished praying for forgiveness, mercy and grace, and then pulled a chair close enough that he could sit while holding his son's hand. There was a moment of hope when Ben felt how cool Adam's fingers felt, but a quick check of the child's forehead and blazing red cheeks confirmed that the fever was still raging. Slipping his hand beneath the covers, he noted that Adam's feet and legs were cool as well. This phenomenon made Ben's mouth go dry with pure terror while his pulse pounded in his head as he recalled Bill's thoughts from earlier. He'd managed to avoid the truth of his friend's assessment of death creeping forward…until now that he felt it with his own touch.

"Oh, God, no," Ben moaned, looking toward heaven, "Please don't punish my son for my mistakes!" He added another blanket over the boy's feet and continued his vigil. When his emotional and physical exhaustion finally left him bobbing and dozing in the chair, he laid his head down at Adam's side, while still holding tightly to his son's hand, and began to pray again while waiting for what he expected would come soon—that which he had no power to stop—the death of his first-born son.

It was a beautiful, sun-filled day, yet Ben was overwhelmed by a sense of unease as he drove his wagon along the road toward…somewhere. He was startled when he glanced to his side and saw a man sitting next to him, and he pulled the team to an abrupt stop. "Where did you come from?" he demanded.

"You picked me up back a spell. I was on foot and you offered me a ride as far as you were going," replied the stranger. "You did seem preoccupied at the time, and you've been very deep in thought ever since I joined you."

Ben could only manage a simple, "Oh…sure." In truth, he had no recollection of ever seeing the man before.

"Who's that in the back of the wagon?" asked the stranger as he glanced over his shoulder.

Ben turned as well because he couldn't remember their being anyone in the back either. "That's my son, Adam," he replied as he shook his head, in hopes of finding some sense in what was happening.

"He doesn't look well. Are you trying to get him somewhere for treatment?"

"I'm honestly at a loss here," replied a bewildered Ben. "I'm going to pull over here and see if I can sort this out."

After moving the rig to a shaded spot, the two men got out, walked to the back of the wagon and took a good look at Adam. "He looks feverish," offered Ben's companion.

"He's been sick with a high fever, but I noticed that his extremities are getting cool and that's a sign that he's dying." Looking around at the lush, green area bordering a spring-fed pond, Ben noted, "This is a place we often came to fish when he was younger. Maybe I was bringing him here so we might enjoy it together one last time."

The stranger guided Ben from the wagon to a comfortable patch of grass under a tree. "Sit with me Ben. Adam can rest while we'll talk."

"How do you know my name?" Ben was feeling befuddled—almost as if he were drunk—yet he knew he was sober. The truth was that he wouldn't have minded losing himself in a bottle of something right then: something to help him forget what was happening…and his part in it.

"I've actually known your whole family for quite some time, but I don't think we've ever been introduced. I'm Stephen."

"Stephen," Ben said as he extended his hand, unable to engage in further pleasantries.

"How did Adam get so sick?"

"Well," Ben stopped to think about what he was doing. Weighing his options, he finally figured it couldn't hurt if he told someone about it. "Adam was clearing brush with me a few weeks back in a stand of trees I wanted to harvest to get lumber for a new shed. I have a rule that he keeps his jacket on when we're in the brush in spring. But while I was away checking some other stands, he got warm and took the jacket off, and rolled his sleeves up too. I checked him for ticks when we got home, but there must have been one I didn't find." The grieving father turned toward his traveling companion and shook his head. "It's interesting how something that small can start something so big."

"How big did it get?" pressed Stephen.

"I was such a fool." He sighed deeply. "About a week after we were out there, I noticed that Adam wasn't eating as much as usual and was going to bed early. But I didn't think much of it because we have a baby in the house and Little Joe has been upsetting all of our eating and sleeping patterns now that he's teething."

"Babies will do that," Stephen mused. "How'd your two sons handle having a new brother?"

The fact that the stranger knew of Hoss too didn't upset Ben any more than any of his other knowledge of the family. "Hoss is intrigued by the baby, and Adam is concerned. I think he worries about Joseph more than being irritated by him; but that's my eldest. He takes his responsibilities to his brothers very seriously…and he's been through a lot. Adam never knew his own mother, and Hoss lost his as an infant, so Adam had to step in as a caregiver very early in his life. I suspect he's holding his breath this time, hoping that all will remain fine with Marie." Ben got up to check on Adam in the buckboard and then returned to Stephen. He admitted to himself that it felt good to be talking to someone who just listened, and he sensed down deep inside that this stranger might have some insight into the course of events that had started this spiral to hopelessness.

"Adam does sound like a very responsible youngster. But let me step back and ask why'd you just call yourself a fool?" Stephen asked as he laid a hand on Ben's shoulder.

"Why? I never saw the changes in my son as symptoms of something serious. I was too absorbed with the rigors of daily living to notice that my son was not well." He drew a deep, ragged breath. "I had made another rule that if Joseph was sleeping; the rest of us had to be quiet. Marie, the baby's mother," He looked over at his companion and grinned wryly. "But I suspect you know about Marie too." Stephen nodded as Ben continued. "Marie tries to rest when Little Joe sleeps, so Hoss and Adam understand that they will face serious consequences if they cause any disruption during those times."

Stephen frowned as he pressed for more details. "So how does being a busy man and setting family rules make you a fool?"

Ben looked away, unable to meet Stephen's eyes as he told the next part of his story. "I knew Adam wasn't himself, but I thought he was moping because the baby was getting so much of our attention." Ben had to stop and take a deep breath. The shudder of it emerged from his body in a voiceless sob.

The stranger encouraged, "What happened?"

After composing himself, Ben started again. "I've lost track of time, but probably five days back, Little Joe and Marie were resting and I was working on our ranch accounts, when…." Another shuddering breath heaved Ben's shoulders. "What happened then is frozen in unbearable memory."

"Go on," Stephen prodded.

"I saw Hoss sneaking down the stairs, trying to be very quiet, and remember watching him in amusement, wondering what he was up to. He finally made it to the table where I was working and whispered that Adam was in his room, crying. I yelled, 'What in blazes is he crying for,' a little too loudly as it turned out, and the house was suddenly alive with Joseph's wailing and Marie's displeasure at the untimely awakening."

"How did you handle Hoss's information?"

Ben now raised his head and looked Stephen in the eyes as he confessed. "I stormed up to Adam's room, threw open the door and started hollering. You see, I assumed his tears were from self-pity over having to be quiet in respect for his stepmother and new brother. I told him…" Ben could not continue as his voice cracked.

"Say it Ben. What did you tell Adam?"

Finally, in an exhale of pain he moaned, "I told him that if he wanted to cry, I'd give him something to cry about! I walked over to his bed where he was curled up, intending to punish him."

Stephen saw the demons of anguish flooding Ben's eyes as he asked, "And what then?"

"I ordered him to stand up."

"And?"

"He tried to stand, but cried out in pain and collapsed. It was only then that I noticed the rash on his arms and felt the heat of his skin. But that's not even the worst of it."

"Go on, Ben. You need to say it."

"Hoss had followed me up to Adam's room and stood in the doorway looking on in terror. He finally told me, 'Pa, Adam's been sick for some days already. He didn't want to _bother_ you, so he's been hiding it.'" Ben sighed. "I went to ask a local healer for help as soon as I realized how sick he was, but although he's been here frequently and tried various things, nothing has worked."

"Did Bill have any idea what was causing the fever?"

Ben looked over at Stephen and shook his head again. "He suspected Adam might have been bitten by a tick—a fact confirmed by Hoss who said Adam showed it to him when he pulled it off. Bill said that he's heard from the Indians and trappers of others getting a bad fever after being bitten by tics, but there's no absolute proof that's what it's from. It takes a while to show itself, but then starts with a sick stomach and tiredness, and progresses to horrible joint pain, rash and high fevers. He also heard that most people don't survive."

Stephen summed up what he'd heard. "So what's bothering you most is that when you found Adam crying you became angry, thinking he was feeling sorry for himself, when he was actually suffering greatly from this tic fever? And now you think he'll die because of your lack of vigilance?"

"That's it. I'm a fool who couldn't see my own son becoming sicker by the day. I'm the fool whose son hid his illness so as not to be a burden. Oh, dear Lord, what have I done?" Ben dropped his head into his hands, but looked toward Stephen again when he began to speak.

"Seems to me that what you've done is raised a very intuitive child who wants to bear his own burdens—just like his father." Stephen pulled a stalk of rye grass from the ground and handed it to Ben. "The way I see it; you're feeling a whole world of guilt. You feel guilty about being the parent who survived to raise Adam and then making him grow up on the trail west. You feel guilt for making him learn so much, so fast, and be responsible, vigilant, and helpful to you and his younger brother. And now you feel guilty about him getting sick because he was helping you as he always has. And the worst of your fears is that Adam won't want to fight for his life because the he thinks the life you've given him isn't worth fighting for. Is that about right, Ben?

Ben nodded. He wasn't sure how Stephen knew these intimate details of his life…and prayers, but felt his heart release some of its burden as he heard his greatest fears voiced by another.

"Take a look at that shaft of grass in your hand, Ben."

The father looked down at the seed-laden stalk resting in his palm.

"Some people are like grass that's planted to be kept green and cut back. But that's not you Ben. You let yourself grow wild to heights you had only dreamed about. And as you grew, you developed seeds that spread, allowing others to dream of growing fine and tall as well. You didn't keep Adam from a childhood, as you now fear; you planted the seeds of exploration, wonder and possibility. You taught Adam that the journey is just as important as getting to where you're going." After a moment Stephen asked, "Do you see what I'm saying Ben?"

Ben was absentmindedly turning the stalk of grass in his hands, eventually breaking it in half and sticking the upper portion into his shirt pocket. "Your words are kind and encouraging, but they don't recognize the fact that my son is dying because I am a parent who lost track of him."

"Ah, I see," replied Stephen before pausing to reflect. "Ben, parenthood—even at its best—is a juggling act. Sometimes you get all the balls in the air and keep them flying without any problems. You and others watch in amazement as they rise and fall in perfect rhythm. But there are the times when you get distracted and lose track of where the balls are and when that happens, some of them are going to fall. Instead of giving up and letting the others tumble as well, you just have to keep juggling the ones still in the air and retrieve the others when you can. It doesn't mean you can't juggle, just that you need more practice."

Ben chuckled, "A juggling act, huh? Apparently I am not a good juggler."

"But you are. You just have too many balls in the air right now and you need to be reminded that it's all right to ask for help. People get weary when they try to do everything alone. You carry a huge responsibility on your shoulders, and you're going to drop a ball now and then. It doesn't mean you're a bad father. I'm sure if you asked Adam, he'd confirm that for you. And there's something else: you can't juggle a ball that you don't know about—like his illness. Right now you are a tired father, who works hard and worries even harder." Stephen asked again, "Ben do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I suppose I do, but that doesn't comfort me now. My child is dying and my heart is breaking. He shouldn't have had to tell me that he was sick. I should have seen it. I am guilty of so many sins I don't know where to start to ask for forgiveness."

Stephen ignored the comment and said instead, "In your prayer tonight, you offered your life for your son's."

"Yes…but, how…." Ben stood; his face awash in confusion.

"It doesn't matter how or what I know; just that I do," countered Stephen. "So right now, if I offered you the choice of giving your life for Adam's you'd make the exchange?"

"Without hesitation. Is that why you're here?" he asked hopefully. "Has my prayer for substitution been answered?" Stephen had stood as well and took Ben by the shoulders. The father was surprised at the strength he felt in the stranger's hands. There was something else as well: a warmth and comforting presence Ben wasn't expecting.

"You offer yourself, even if you dying in Adam's place meant that three children would be without a father, and a wife would have to go on without her husband? How does that sound like a good idea to you?"

The reply was barely breathed into words, "Might it not be better for them to have no father, than to have a bad one?"

Stephen ignored Ben's plea. His grasp became tighter as he looked deeply into the father's eyes. "If you're willing to die for your son, then why aren't you willing to keep living for him?"

"I don't understand what you mean," moaned Ben. "Why would I want to live if it means Adam will die? Why are you doing this?"

Stephen walked Ben to the wagon. "Look at your son. You wanted him to have a life of freedom, challenge and faith in himself. You've done that, Ben. The things you're beating yourself up over tonight come from Adam being everything you taught him to be. He was doing what he thought would help you—because he loves and respects you, not because he hates you or his life."

"He shouldn't have disguise his own pain to _help_ me," he replied, his voice no more than a whisper again. "He's a child. He should let me decide what's best for him, and he certainly shouldn't die for the bad decisions I make."

Stephen wrapped his arm around Ben as they looked down at the sleeping child in the wagon. "You're missing the point. You and Adam are a team. You always were and always will be no matter which paths you each take in the future. You both love each other more than life itself, and would each give their life if it meant the other could go on living. At this moment, Adam is ill because an infected tick bit him: not because you're a bad father, or as a judgment or punishment for something you did or didn't do. Ben, accept that there are things you can't control, and resolve to do the best with those things you can."

He turned to face Stephen, "How do I do that?"

Stephen stepped back, and started walking down the road; looking back to say, "This is where we part company."

"You didn't answer my question!" Ben hollered desperately as he ran after him. "How do I do that?"

"Forgive yourself for having moments when you drop some of the balls you're trying to keep in the air. Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and remember that you sacrifice yourself as much for your children by living and loving them the best way you know how, as by asking to die for them. And above all, keep praying for guidance…maybe even before you come to despair." Stephen laughed before adding, "And maybe take some juggling lessons!" With a final wave, he was gone.

Ben was aware of a shaft of moonlight casting its glow across Adam's bed. It was still dark, but he could see a tinge of gathering daylight in the east outside Adam's window. It took a moment for these things to register, but then he sat up in panic as he realized he must have slept for hours. He was still holding Adam's hand and it felt warm, but he knew the warmth reflected only his own body heat, not his son's. Reaching under the covers, he checked the boy's feet, finding them cool, but no cooler than earlier.

The foot was hastily withdrawn as he heard, "Stop it, Pa; you know I'm ticklish."

Ben's head snapped toward the head of the bed. He had been afraid to start his appraisal from the head down, for fear of seeing his son's face reflecting the pallor of death. A huge smile spread across his face as he pulled Adam to him and held on tight, breathing, "Oh, Adam," in a grateful sigh. Ben finally settled the boy back against the pillows. "How do you feel?"

"I'm good, Pa. I didn't feel so good yesterday, but I feel a lot better today."

"Adam," he chuckled, "'yesterday' was 5 days ago. You've been very ill, and I'm thankful that you're doing so much better." Ben knew he needed to talk to the boy about having hid his illness, but he decided that conversation could wait a bit. Now it was time to celebrate.

"Pa," Adam ventured. "I kind of know how to juggle, if you want me to teach you."

Ben's eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose as he asked, "What makes you offer that, son?"

"I heard you talking with someone about juggling during the night. It sounded like you didn't know how to do it very well."

"I must have been talking in my sleep." Ben's mind was suddenly filled with the remembrance of his "dream." "How do you know how to juggle?" he asked with a smile.

"It tells how in one of Marie's books about a circus in New Orleans. I've been practicing during the times we have to be quiet while Little Joe sleeps."

"I'll have you give me a lesson or two when you're feeling a little stronger. Hey, I probably shouldn't do this," Ben offered conspiratorially, "but nobody else is awake yet to tell us not to. Do you feel up to getting out of this bed for a while? I'll carry you downstairs. I bet Hop Sing's probably inside already and will make you something to eat if you're hungry."

Adam sat up immediately and moved to the edge of the bed. "I'm starved Pa and my backside hurts. I suppose I've been laying on it too long."

"Then it's a deal." Ben took Adam into his arms as he had when he was a small child, and his son melted into his shoulder and notched his head in the curve of his father's neck. A supreme thankfulness enveloped the man as he realized his son had been given back to him…or had asked to stay. He offered silent prayers of praise as he made his way downstairs.

Adam pulled something from his father's shirt pocket as Ben tucked a blanket around him after setting him in a comfortable chair by the hearth. He held it up for Ben to see and asked, "What's this?"

Ben looked at the object in Adam's hand and his heart began beating wildly as he recognized it as the stalk of rye grass Stephen had handed him in his dream. "It's a reminder, son," Ben finally replied with as much calm as he could muster, "Just a reminder."

The End


End file.
